Generosity

Just a few doors up the hill from our home lives a lovely family of four.  The front of their house serves the double purpose of housing their car, which I have never seen out of its place, and housing their little Convenience Store, or Pulperia.  The mother, Victoria, is a dear friend of ours.  If you were to meet her you would first notice her lovely smile.  She is almost always smiling.  Her daughters work with her.  One recently graduated from college, a matter of great pride for the family, but has been unable to find work.  The younger daughter is in high school.

If you go to church in the morning on Sunday, she will be there praying before you arrive.  She is almost always accompanied by her friend who exhibits charity to me in so many ways.  I believe they go to church every day.  If you ever have the privilege of walking home from church with her you will notice two things.  She has a slow elegant gait.  And she seems to know everyone which slows her homeward progress all the more.  Her life has not been easy, but she bears her struggles with grace.  You would never know that she struggles with justified fears.       

I met her my first full day here when we needed some eggs.  She greeted me as if she had known me always, with genuine affection, thanks to the many volunteers she knew before me.  That was the first day I received her charity.  Instead of paying for our eggs, she gave them to us.  This is so common with Victoria.  Sometimes I ask for three avocados and pay for three avocados, but receive four tomatoes as well.  Other times I ask for three and receive four.  Othertimes I pay nothing.  And on occasion, I receive and pay for exactly what I intended to buy in the first place.

Doña Victoria isn’t our only friend who is generous in this way.  We frequently receive donations of food and clothing from our neighbors, the same neighbors who are struggling to feed their families.  They have a good day at market and want to share in the abundance.  They know Fr. Jose loves bananas, so they send us ALL the bananas from the tree behind their house.  And this is how they say, “I love you” and “Thank you”.

Humility

Humility – it is expressed in so many ways in my friends!  Every response to a question from “How are you?”  to “Will I see you tomorrow?” has some response affirming faith and accepting God´s will.  “Well, thank you, gracias a Dios.” “At 4 pm, se Dios lo quiere (if God wants it to be so).” 

This same humility is visible in friendships too.  My friends here are teaching me how to seek forgiveness, immediately.  They ask me to forgive them sometimes before I even know a wrong has been committed.

Doña Totsie is one such friend.  She is a frequent visitor to our house.  Her visits bring me great joy, not only for her presence, but also for the effort she takes to come to our house.  Her knees are so bad that she cannot climb the hill to go to church, but she climbs the much shorter flight of stairs to come to our doorstep.  I have never heard her complain, but I can see the pain in the change in her steps as she descends our stairs.

Totsie lives alone in a house out of which she runs a little convenience store and behind which she cooks her food over a wood fire in a metal barrel which in a previous life stored gasoline.  Her house is currently decorated for Christmas with a little Christmas tree in which she takes great pride.  But her true prized position is a statue of Jesus she bought three years ago.  Usually it is covered with a cloth to protect it from our dusty air, but at night she removes the cover, lights a candle and prays. 

Totsie has a rough touch and strong arms which often make me think of the pioneer women in the 1800s who survived the West … I think she would have fared well then as she does now living in a different sort of wild west. 

Doña Totsie and I during Christmas

Last week she came to our house Wednesday night.  We were all praying when she entered … I was in our kitchen in the back.  A little while later she came up to me and ask me to forgive her for not having come to greet me when she first arrived.  She hadn´t seen me.  Imagine!  Not only would I chosen not cross a room to greet someone for fear of attracting attention, I would have also probably decided it was inappropriate to do so and not thought of it again.  Not only did she make the effort to come kiss my cheek, but she also wanted me to pardon her (without a thought to the fact that I didn´t greet here either).

Home

I supposed I feel at home here, because I feel at home with the heart of the people here.  I can´t seem to sing the praises of my friends here enough.  I have so much to learn from them!

I wish I could introduce you to the heart of these people … their heart is what I love most of all here.  They often ask me about the States.  They want to know if it is beautiful and they want to know what makes us, Americans, tick.  I attempt to describe the protestant work ethic which drives our commerce.  I talk about the importance of liberty and freedom to our culture and the struggle between fairness and justice which permeated out lives.  I talk about my sadness over the sense of entitlement I see in my generation.  I talk about our spirit of entrepreneurship and of southern hospitality.  This is what I mean by heart.  These are the ideals which I see in the heart of my American friends, the best parts, the parts we mustn’t lose (or which we must strive to overcome in the instance of the sense of entitlement).

But I can´t yet describe the heart of the catracho, because I am still discovering it.  I can’t describe it, because in many ways my friends here are as different as the three pictured below.  I would like to describe to you in the coming few posts some little parts which I have discovered in the hearts of my neighbors … humility, generosity, dignity, hospitality and charity.

Friday Night Lights

How often I think of home on Friday nights as I listen to neighbors walk, or stumble, home from bars and discos on Friday nights.  I have not been to either type of establishment since my arrival here.  Instead of the neon lights of beer signs, the light I see most often on Friday night it the single lightbuld of our pilla, or concrete wash basin.

While my friends back home are watching movies or enjoying cocktails or playing Rummi Cube, I am very often washing my clothes that I didn´t have time to wash during the week.

I spend lots of time in our washbasin.  It takes longer than you would think to wash towels and sheets by hand.  Enough time to help friendships grow and to make my arms tired.

Diana washing with St. Nic

One of our little friends who is 7 years old has helped me wash.  And i have helped her wash.  Her mother works all day and her grandmother is bedridden due to illness.  When her older cousin went to visit family for a week, Diana was left to wash the clothes.  When we learned this, we invited her to wash at our house so that we could help her with the work.  Walking with her one morning to our house I felt like I finally belonged.  I had her younger brother on my left hip and a bundle of wash in my right hand.  She trotted next to me balancing another bundle on her head as we descended the staircase alley from her house towards ours.

Diana is a bundle of joy.  She loves to come to our house and has more than once hidden beneath our staircase in the hope that we will not see her, wanting to stay the night.  She loves to help cook and wants to do so on top of the counter.  She loves to play.  Her favorite pastimes include asking me to guess which hand conceals a bulion cube ... a rubber ball ... a peice of gum ... for 30 minutes ... or an hour.

Recently we have gone with her a few times to the dentist to have some teeth pulled.  She is so brave.  Although she is full of fear, she lets the dentist work, with big tears streaming down her face.  As soon as it is over, she is proud of herself.  And everytime we meet her, she wants to show us little holes where her teeth used to be.